


Proper Procedure

by ColetheWolf



Series: Smut Bomb: April 2020 [2]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Asylum AU: Derek is a psychiatrist at Eichen House, Autofellatio, Breeding, Clothed Sex, Derek Hale Has a Fat Ass, Facials, Fingerfucking, Hypnosis, Hypnotism, M/M, Mind Break, Mind Control, Mind Manipulation, Pheromones, Rimming, Rough Sex, Wet & Messy, bottom!Derek, halemore, self-sucking, top!jackson
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-30
Updated: 2020-04-30
Packaged: 2021-03-02 01:42:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,119
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23927092
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ColetheWolf/pseuds/ColetheWolf
Summary: Dr. Derek Hale gets called into work at Eichen House Asylum for the Supernatural and Criminally Insane, to administer a psych evalutation to a new, dangerous patient. The new patient is Jackson Whittemore, who takes Derek under his control and turns him into a sloppy bottom cumslut.
Relationships: Derek Hale/Jackson Whittemore
Series: Smut Bomb: April 2020 [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1724794
Comments: 45
Kudos: 286





	1. Bye Bye Brain

**Author's Note:**

> This one was fun to write. Obviously, my version of Eichen House is inspired by Arkham Asylum. But anyways, the world needs more Halemore fics! So here's one!
> 
> WARNING: This fic is tagged RAPE/NON-CON because Derek is mind controlled without his consent.

Derek dashed through the hard sheets of rain, holding his leather briefcase above his head as a makeshift umbrella. Thunder roared through the air and lightning slashed through the black sky, doing well to illuminate Derek’s path towards the front entrance of his place of employment. He ducked and weaved, trying his best to stay dry, but found that it was impossible. Each stride of his sprint bore his brown oxfords down into icy puddles, sending splashes of grey water up to soak into his tailored black trousers. 

Passing the ambulance bay and the visitors’ center, Derek passed through one of the many large iron gates and stepped into a large cobblestone courtyard—lined with thick willow trees that whipped their branches around in the wind. Dim gas lanterns dictated Derek’s direction. And despite the fact that they did a poor job of illuminating anything in the midst of a thunderstorm, Derek took great pleasure in the quick bursts of warmth he felt slap across his face as he passed them.

Derek pushed onward, still holding his briefcase above his head. He made his way down the large stretch of the courtyard and leapt up onto the stone landing which was situated directly in front of the heavyset, ten-foot high wooden doors. Eager to find some relief from the storm, Derek hurriedly dug around inside the pocket of his coat and pulled out his security clearance badge, swiping it through the laser keycard reader. And only when he heard the piercing sound of the alarm begin to whirl on the other side of the door, signalling when the doors were about to open, did Derek let out a sigh of relief. 

“Poor planning, Hale.” Alan Deaton mocked darkly, being the first one to welcome Derek as he passed through the threshold of the doors to step inside the building. 

A dozen or so heavily armed guards lined the long hallway of the building’s lobby, with four guards finding that their responsibility rested with making sure the entrance doors closed and locked down in a timely, secure fashion. Derek, however, paid them no mind. He never did. But not out of arrogance or rudeness. Working in the place that he did required hypervigilance at all times—there was very little room to let one’s thoughts stray. 

Eichen House Asylum for the Supernatural and Criminally Insane was the most dangerous place to be, in one of the most crime-infested cities in the United States. The asylum was an old castle, built in the early 17th century, but refurbished to house some of the most violent and dangerous supernatural creatures the country ever had the misfortune of meeting. It rested perched up high on a large rocky hill, like a gargoyle, overlooking the city of Beacon Hills down below. 

Derek pulled his briefcase down to where it had hovered above his head through his maddened dash through the storm. He was soaking wet. His oxfords sloshed as he stepped across the stone flooring. His black trousers were heavily darkened at the ankles from rain saturation. His gray herringbone wool coat was equally as soaked, right down into the white collared shirt that he was wearing underneath it. If anything, he looked more like a drowned rat than an intelligent psychiatrist. 

“I had very little time to plan. Argent called me in. He made it sound urgent.” Derek said, running his hand through his waterlogged hair. He took off his black-rimmed glasses and wiped away the speckles of rainwater. “There’s a new arrival he wants me to evaluate before shipping him down to the lower levels.”

“Ah—yes.” Alan eased knowingly. “Enjoy that one. I’ve heard that he’s the most dangerous one we’ve had all year. ”

With a confident nod of acknowledgement, Derek set off to the elevators. His office was on the ninth floor and he needed to stow away his things before meeting with any new patient arrivals. At the very least, he would also be able to change into some of the spare clothing he kept around. He never knew when one of his patients would spit venom, or stain his shirt with their slimy skin, or bore their claws into one of his shirts. So, it was always good to have a back-up. 

Derek’s office was small, but cozy—as cozy as an office could feel in a dimly lit, drafty old castle turned asylum. He had a desk and a comfortable chair, access to all of his files, and some bookshelves that were properly stuffed with just about any kind of information Derek ever needed to get his hands on. Fellow doctors even admitted that they found his own personal collection more useful than the asylum’s designated library three floors down. 

Derek quickly changed his clothes, pulling an entirely new outfit out from the small ornate wardrobe that was tucked away in the corner of his office. He pulled on a pair of brown trousers and another pair of oxfords, though these ones were a dark navy blue, which matched nicely with the long-sleeved, dark blue paisley-print shirt he put on. The only thing from his original wardrobe that he kept was his tie, that was not soaked enough to cause an issue. 

A knock rapped against the door of Derek’s office, which swung open without Derek’s invitation to the person on the other side. But it was Derek’s superior, Christopher Argent—the warden of Eichen House. His long, distinguished face and steel gray eyes looked just as serious as they always did. The man rarely did feel an emotion other than complete and total apathy, but that was what happened after working at Eichen for nearly three decades. 

“Good—you’re here.” Chris said, stepping into Derek’s office. 

Derek slicked back his hair with his fingers, not even bothering with more hair product. The rainwater was sufficient enough. He straightened his glasses. “Alan said this new patient is dangerous.”

“Alan is a bit dramatic.” Chris solidified. “The truth is—we don’t know.”

“What do you mean?”

“The knocked twelve gaurds unconscious in the span of a minute. None of them are injured, though some of them haven’t yet regained their ability to talk. We think he might be some kind of illusionist or supernatural hypnotist, capable of rendering people unconscious with nothing more than prolonged eye contact.”

“Did he do anything weird with his eyes? Did they flash colors? Did he mutter anything strange under his breath?

“He was exceedingly smug, but calm about the whole ordeal. He didn’t talk. No odd eye movement or shifts. No incantation utterance. He didn’t even bother trying to break free from his restraints.” Chris explained. 

“And the guards went down in sequence or all at once?”

“Some here and there—they kind of just keeled over.” Chris said. “But you can see why I was so adamant to get you down here, despite the storm. You’re the only lycan we have on staff and you were raised by werewolves. You know better than anyone that hypnosis doesn’t work on wolves.”

Chris passed Derek a manila folder that was stuffed full of papers—most of which likely detailed all of the information pertaining to the new patient. Derek walked over to his coat rack and grabbed his crisp white doctor coat, casually slipping it on. When he was ready, he followed Chris out of the office, down one of the dimly lit corridors, towards the elevator hub once again. 

“Your patient is currently situated in the Telepath Ward. We just figured that it was better he be kept somewhere with similar powered creatures.” Chris said, walking alongside Derek’s confident stride. “When you’re done with the evaluation, drop the report down at my quarters and the guards will escort the patient down to the lower levels.”

Derek and Chris rounded the corner into the hallway of elevators, continuing on with their conversation. Derek thumbed down at the elevator’s “down” button and casually tapped his foot around until the bronze doors slid open for him. He gave Chris an enthusiastic nod and then stepped inside. Chris, however, remained outside—giving Derek a slight wave—before heading off back to where his own office was located on the top floor of the asylum. 

The Telepath Ward was the least populated ward in the entire asylum. Telepaths and supernatural hypnotists were rare creatures to happen across, seeing as how they were almost never apprehended and caught for commited crimes. The majority of the cells were empty and would only be filled with overflow patients. The Telepath Ward was also the least guarded ward in the asylum, because each individual cell was carved out of thick bedrock. Telepathic signals couldn’t penetrate stone and hypnotists had to make eye contact with somebody to take victims under control. 

Derek stepped out of the elevator and walked past the floor’s lobby reception desk, nodding ‘hello’ to the disgruntled looking man who occupied the desk. As Derek made his way deeper into the Telepath Ward, the lights grew even dimmer as the stone walls did nothing to reflect any of the available fluorescent light. It was like being inside of a cave, but Derek was a werewolf with remarkable vision. He didn’t need much light to see, let alone conduct his practice. 

CELL 37. That was the cell listed on the manila folder that Derek held in his hand. Derek walked straight up to it, double-checking to make sure that he had arrived at the right place. And sure enough, he was. The cell door was a windowless slab of thick concrete that was only to slide open when an authorized thumbprint was matched on the door’s scanner. 

The cell was small and dark. A small overhead lamp swung around slowly, pushed by the drafty nature of the ward. There was a small window on the far wall, opposite to that of the door, which received a fair amount of abuse from rain as the storm continued to rage outside in the dead of night. There was absolutely no furniture in the cell, except for the cot on which the patient was shackled to by his arms, and a lone chair in the corner of the room, which was reserved for any visiting doctor. 

Across the room, Derek laid eyes on the asylum's newest patient. He was young and looked as though he could have been in college—around twenty years old. His skin was fair and seemed to glow nicely under the dim overhead lightbulb. Freckles were scattered across the bridge of the boy’s nose. The boy was blond and had piercing blue eyes. An insanely sharp and square jawline definitely set him apart from the rest of the asylum’s general population— this one looked as though he could have succeeded as an underwear model.

“Good evening.” Derek spoke up, stepping into the cell. The door shut slowly behind him. He took his seat in the corner of the room on the rickety old chair, crossing one of his legs, holding his clipboard and folder on his thigh. “My name is Dr. Derek Stephen Hale. I will be the one administering your psychological evaluation. It shouldn’t take too long—no, not at all. And then we can get you situated in a better cell downstairs.”

Derek watched as the patient sat up on his cot and got comfortable. His arms were shackled down to the cement floor with thick chains on either wrist. The boy was wearing a bright orange, Eichen House Asylum standard issue jumpsuit, although the button-up shirt was nearly completely unbuttoned. And as the boy sat up, Derek caught a glimpse of the boy’s incredibly toned torso—broad chest and dangerous looking abs. 

“You’re a doctor?” The patient scoffed lightly. A smirk tugged at his lips. His eyebrows were thick and broody and contrasted harshly with the boy’s dishwater blond hair. 

“Yes.” Derek spoke calmly, thumbing at the bottom of his pen. “Does that surprise you?”

“Uh— a bit, actually.” The boy admitted jokingly. He seemed extremely comfortable, despite being locked away and shackled. He sat atop the cot like it was some kind of throne. “They only make doctors like you in porn—are you sure you’re legitimately qualified?”

Derek was taken aback by the boy’s charming wit. It was almost seductive. It was playful. The majority of the people that Derek evaluated were quiet and mopey, socially repressed, and drowned in the darkness of their own minds. Especially tucked away from all available sunlight, in the dank corridors of Eichen House, most people found it difficult to remain in good spirits. Even Derek found himself wavering into sadness from time-to-time. 

“I promise you that I’m not a joke Eichen House has pulled in here off the streets to play games with you.” Derek snorted, watching Jackson’s grin refuse to fade. “And before you ask, no—I haven’t been in any porns before. I don’t frequent it.”

The patient let out a dramatic gasp, as if shocked. “And how did you know that was going to be my next question, doctor? Don’t tell me you’re also a  _ hypnotist. _ ”

Derek nodded—not in agreement, but in success. Just like that, he had been able to get the patient to verbally admit to what kind of creature he was. As suspected, he was a supernatural hypnotist. They were rare. Derek had only dealt with a handful of others throughout his career. But they were fascinating creatures that roamed the world. Derek was always eager to learn more. 

“Ah, a hypnotist. Very interesting….very interesting….” Derek said, opening up his folder. He flipped through some of the available pieces of papers and then pulled out the one that gave him information about his patient. “Mr. Jackson Grant Whittemore. Born June 15th, 2000. Adopted by David McMillon Whittemore and Susanne Emily Whittemore.”

“Yep.” Jackson said, leaning back against the creaky metal headboard of his cell’s cot. 

“It says here that you were picked up earlier this evening following—” Derek froze, scanning through the area of the document that listed Jackson’s charges and reason for getting shoved off to the asylum. 

“Yeah—it’s true.” Jackson laughed, pointing over towards the document that Derek continued to re-read through. 

“So, you did show up to a frat house on the Beacon Hills University campus?”

“Yes.”

“And you—rounded up five of the house’s tenants?”

“Definitely.”

“And you—told them—to  _ eat _ each other—using your powers, in full awareness of what you have the power to do to those not immune to your abilities?”

Jackson sat back up. “See—that’s where the story deviates from whatever that underpaid moron deputy typed out in the report. I didn’t tell them to eat each other. I told them all to get fucked and  _ eat dicks _ . They just did what  _ they _ interpreted my words to mean.”

“But you can see how they could’ve gotten confused.” Derek said, looking directly at Jackson. 

“I’m not a fucking idiot.” Jackson bit, crossing his arms. His shackles clanged around as he moved. “But why the hell should I be in trouble for their confusion? Some of them lived. The rest will be just—well, you can live without a cock and a couple fingers.”

“Mmmhmm.” Derek hummed, casually jotting down a few notes about Jackson’s demeanor in his personal notebook. “Now, I want to ask you about these guys you targeted. Was there any particular reason that you aimed your abilities at them in such an aggressive and crude way?”

Jackson nodded, rolling his eyes smugly. “They were a bunch of assholes.”

“Elaborate.”

“I was minding my own business—let’s get that fucking straight. Unlike those guys. All of them pretended to be straight, but they were weak-minded, lemme tell you. It was all a show they put on for the ladies.” Jackson spoke dramatically, constantly stopping himself to laugh. “One of the  _ now _ -dickless dickheads tried to pretend like he hadn’t blown me just a couple days prior and tried knocking me around when I recounted his very, very versatile tongue to the rest of the party.”

Derek’s inquisitive stare flickered down to Jackson’s crotch. He didn’t even realize that he was doing it. Jackson, however, took note with a gleam in his eyes. He casually switched up his positioning, adjusting his legs, canting up his hips just slightly, and then tracked the way that Derek watched—absentmindedly. Then he watched as Derek rubbed at his own eyes and looked back down to his papers. 

“So, you outed this man in front of his friends. When he rejected you, it made you feel angry?” Derek said calmly, writing down a few notes. 

Jackson shrugged. “I didn’t out anybody. He did that himself when he was sucking on my cock.”

Derek nodded, chewing at the base of his pen. “Yes, well his friends didn’t know, did they?”

“No—”

“So, to them, they thought their friend was straight and acted out upon discovering otherwise.” Derek acknowledged wisely. “It sounds like a rather simplistic event. The question is why did it need to escalate to where it did, with them in the hospital and morgue, and you here.” 

Jackson shrugged. “Fate, maybe. I mean, they’re there—like you said, hospital and morgue. And I’m here, with you.”

“And you think this to be a satisfactory situation?”

“Yes, why wouldn’t I?”

“Well, people typically don’t like to be locked behind bars—especially not here in this miserable asylum.”

“What is out there—” Jackson gestured up to the window. “—that I don’t have access to in here, hmm?”

Derek was puzzled as to where the conversation was going, but he continued on. “For starters, good food. Fresh air. Television. Sex.” 

Jackson snickered. “Well, I’ll get fed in here, right? And we get time out in the yard to catch our breath. And I saw a television mounted on the wall in the day room. And who says I can’t have sex in here?” He flashed a sinful smirk.

“I hate to be the one to inform you, Mr. Whittemore, but Eichen House regulations do not permit copulation amongst its inmates. It’s a rule you’ll find this establishment enforces rather harshly.”

“Fine—inmates are off the table. Nobody’s said anything about the staff here.”

Derek gave a dry laugh. “If you’re not allowed to have sex with fellow inmates, I can gaurantee that you won’t be able to find a member of this asylum’s staff—neither gaurd, nor janitor, nor medical professional—that will be willing to have sex with you.”

“And yet, here you are, Dr. Hale.” Jackson said, matter of factly. “You’re here with me.”

“Yes, but I’m not going to have sex with you.” Derek said. 

“Then why have you been sitting here for the past— _ I don’t know _ —forty minutes, breathing in my pheromones?”

Derek’s heart seemed to turn into ice and drop down into the pit of his stomach. He stared at Jackson, analyzing the boy’s calm and collected demeanor. Clearly—he was lying. He was playing games. It was a classic trick spun out on members of the medical staff to scare them, and for the patient to get a rise out of those that ran the asylum. It was the only way for inmates to assert some kind of dominance in a rather submissive state. And yet—Derek’s nerves were frozen to the core. 

“Pheromones?” Derek gave a feeble laugh, trying to keep his composure. He tried to write in his journal, but he didn’t really know what to write. 

“It’s my breath. I exhale the goods, you breath it in. Your mind turns to mush and then I can make you do whatever I want.” Jackson explained confidently, blowing out a teasing breath of air. 

Derek glared. He stuffed his notebook and papers back into Jackson’s file and stood up from where he had been sitting across from the boy. Jackson didn’t seem moved. He didn’t seem to care that Derek was preparing to leave. But enough was enough. Derek clearly wasn’t going to get anymore information out of the boy, considering the fact Jackson was determined to play pretend inside of his own mind with a fantasy. 

“Good night, Mr. Whittemore.”

Derek walked over towards the cell door, but just as soon as he reached out to press his thumb against the scanner, his body seemed to tense up and set itself on edge. From the tips of his toes, a raging heat fired up through his bones, though his skin, right up into his head. His head started to feel just a tad bit cloudy. He tried pushing against the cell door, but this time—his hands began to tremble and he dropped Jackson’s patient file, watching as the papers spread across the floor. 

“Sit.” Jackson said calmly, pointing over to the empty visitor’s chair. His chains rattled.

Derek’s legs wobbled but then straightened up. He walked back over to where he had just been sitting down and reclaimed his seat. For a moment, he looked down to his legs in shock— unable to fathom what had just happened. And then he looked over to where Jackson was still resting on the mattress of his cell’s cot. Jackson’s smugness only seemed to intensify. His crystal blue eyes sparkled deeply with dark intent. Derek couldn’t look away.

“Attacking a medical professional—” Derek started with a sneer. His nice demeanor had fled. “—you’re not helping your case, Jackson. The warden knows that I'm down here giving you a psych evaluation. Don’t think for a second that they won’t raise the alarm and rush down here with a wave of guards to toss you down to the lowest levels of this establishment.”

“I’m not going to hold you hostage.” Jackson laughed. “You’ll be out by the time Mr. Argent comes to check up and see how things are going. And trust me, Dr. Hale, you’ll be doing even  _ better _ than you were when you first stepped in here.”

“What do you mean?” 

“We’re nearing a full hour since you’ve been exposed to my pheromones, breathing everything in. Just hang out here for a little bit longer.” Jackson said. “The minute the new hour hits, that beautiful doctorate level brain of yours will be pudding and I’ll build you brand new in the best way possible.”

Derek’s eyes widened. He tried his best to hop out of his seat, but it was as if his brain’s thoughts wouldn’t travel to the different parts of his body. He was stuck there, sitting directly across from Jackson’s cocky smirk. And Derek knew that if he didn’t find a way to get out into clean air, away from Jackson’s pheromones, there would be nothing left he’d be able to do to stop whatever Jackson had in store for him. 

“You should just let me go. I won’t be any use to you.” Derek rationed. “I’m a werewolf. I can be dangerous. The other doctors will know if I’m acting out of character. Whatever you’re going to try to make me do—rob a bank, release other inmates, kill somebody—they’ll stop me and they’ll stop you.”

Jackson snickered. “Actually—I need a little help.” He held up his shackled wrists and gave them a generous amount of shaking. 

Suddenly, Derek stood up from his seat and walked over to the side of Jackson’s cot. It was like the rest of his body was on autopilot. It felt weird to be stuck inside of his own body, watching himself get puppeted around like some kind of toy. At the same time, his very vivid and fierce thoughts of resistance were starting to become more and more cloudy. They were seeping away somewhere Derek couldn’t follow. The new hour neared. 

Derek reached down and clasped both hands onto the chains that kept Jackson bound. And with a grunted exhale of exertion, Derek tore the shackles into pieces. Simple metal was no match for the strength of an alpha werewolf, at least not in the Telepath Ward. The shackles situated in the ward that housed criminal werewolves were reinforced specifically to stop any kind of attempted breakout. 

Jackson sighed in relief and rubbed at his tired wrists. He stretched out his arms and snorted out an arrogant, breathy laugh. Derek just stood there, unable to move, looking down at where Jackson’s sinister blue eyes pierced into his soul. The boy’s stupidly perfect face seemed to grow even more perfect. How could somebody so innocent be so depraved inside? Derek couldn’t understand it. And as the minutes ticked by, he wouldn’t be able to understand much of anything. 

“You’re playing a losing game.”

“Yeah—yeah, give me your watch.” Jackson held out his palm, Derek did as he was told. He unfastened the simple leather-banded watch that had been fixed upon his wrist and handed it over to Jackson. 

Jackson watched the tiny seconds hand on the watch’s face tick on by. Five minutes—four—minutes—three—two—one. Derek gulped hard, trying his best to nudge his body away towards the door, but his feet were like lead. They weren’t going to move. He shouted out for the guards, for the receptionist at the front desk, but the walls were thick stone and cement, no sound would penetrate them. Derek’s luck had run out. 

“Jackson—you need to understand what you’re doing. You’re not well. People that are well don’t do this kind of thing. There are other ways to go about the disturbed emotion that you’re feeling inside—using your powers against me is not one of those ways—you have to know that this is absurd, it’s ridiculous, you’re only bringing trouble upon yoursel—” 

Derek suddenly tripped over his own words, letting out a slow groan as the last thought inside of his head fizzled away into nothingness. His sturdy body went lax. His strong shoulders sagged. He could barely even keep himself standing upright, occasionally tripping over himself, nearly toppling down to the cold stone ground. At the same time, his eyes— those beautiful green eyes— went glassy and unfocused. An odd static-like swirl began to spin around in the man’s iris. And the dumbest looking half-cocked smirk tugged feebly at the corner of the doctor’s stubbled face. 

He was gone. 

“Oops.” Jackson said, shooting up from where he had been lounging around on the cot as he watched the minutes countdown. 

Jackson waved Derek’s own watch in front of the doctor’s face, pretending as though it was one of the medallions or pocket watches that lame ass hypnotists used during stage performances. Derek’s eyes didn’t even follow the slow movement of the swinging watch. Instead, he just seemed to stare right through it. He seemed to stare though Jackson, as well. But Jackson found himself thoroughly excited. 

“Bye bye, brain.” Jackson laughed, thumbing at the corner of Derek’s crooked smile. “But don’t worry about it. Now we can have some real fun.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Let the fucking begin!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Actual fucking begins!

Jackson pressed closer into Derek’s unsturdy form. He tossed Derek’s watch over his shoulder, listening to the way it ricocheted off one of the stone walls—Derek didn’t notice. Jackson splayed one of his palms onto Derek’s wide, muscular chest, and then began to rub at Derek’s body through the fabric of his shirt. He could feel Derek’s hard muscle, toned through hours and hours of daily workout regimen, no doubt. The fact that Derek was also a werewolf surely didn’t hurt. 

With his other hand, Jackson gripped onto Derek’s jaw and squeezed, forcing the man’s cheeks to hollow and for his mouth to gape open. He stared into the spiral static that now laced the once bright-eyed intelligent doctor’s zoned-out vision, smirking to himself, and then blew a soft breath of pheromones deep into Derek’s mouth. Automatically, Derek inhaled deeply, like he was starved for breath, but just as quickly seemed to settle down. 

Jackson sucked Derek in for a kiss. Immediately, Derek’s relatively deadened body seemed to jolt back to life. Derek groaned and enthusiastically reciprocated the kiss. It was hard and fast, wasting no time. Chris Argent  _ would _ eventually come looking for his wonderful fellow staff member. But luckily, Jackson’s pheromones worked like a charm. Derek was high on the edge of sex and lust and desperation and could be pushed off whenever Jackson felt as though there was no more time to play around. 

Derek kissed hard and Jackson wanted to know if Derek kissed all of the guys he fucked around with like that. Derek dragged his lips hard against Jackson’s, almost as if he couldn’t get enough of the boy’s taste. He let out loud, ragged breaths when the two pulled apart for just a sliver of time. The prickle of Derek’s trimmed stubble burned against the sharpness of Jackson’s jawline, but they kept at it— pulling and pulling at one another, swallowing down every labored breath and moan that whimpered in the backs of their throats. 

“Damn—you wanted this bad. What’s the matter, don’t get enough sex at home?” Jackson laughed, palming hard against Derek’s broad chest. He tore open some of the buttons of Derek’s blue paisley shirt, sneaking a peak at the dark chest hair that shadowed the man’s beautiful tanned skin. “I don’t see a wedding ring. Don’t tell me you’re not married. Or maybe you are—maybe you just took it off before you came here tonight cause deep down you knew I’d turn you into a sloppy fucking slut.”

Jackson tore open the rest of Derek’s shirt and untucked the hemline from where it had been prestinely tucked into the doctor’s pressed brown trousers. A sighed exhale of satisfaction involuntarily slipped out of Jackson’s mouth as he took a slight step back, making sure that he could properly stop and take a look at what a gorgeous creature Derek Hale actually was. As if it hadn’t already been obvious beforehand, Jackson was just that much more in awe. 

Jackson stepped closer and ran his fingers through Derek’s slicked-back hair, tugging hard and steering Derek’s head down to tilt— exposing the side of the man’s neck. And then Jackson surged forward. He pressed his hot lips and mouth against the sensitive skin of Derek’s neck, kissing hard and sucking visibly dark bruises onto Derek’s skin. Jackson pulled away, keeping Derek’s neck tilted, and watched as the man’s werewolf healing faded the bruises away. So Jackson kissed at Derek’s neck again, repeating the process repeatedly, just for fun. 

“You’re so fucking hot, Hale.” Jackson breathed, reaching around to palm at Derek’s fat ass. He squeezed hard, digging the bluntness of his fingernails into the meat of Derek’s backside, slapping at it, feeling it jiggle under his touch—all through the fabric of Derek’s trousers. “You didn’t even fucking know it, did you? Walking around like a god of sex amongst man, just begging to be taken and touched and kissed and fucked—aren’t you happy I was here to give this to you?”

Derek’s unfocused eyes just stared deep into Jackson’s eager gaze. He didn’t say anything. He didn’t respond. He wore the same dopey, half-cocked smile on his slack face—although it was significantly more sloppy followed by all of the rough kissing that he had partook in. But that was perfectly fine—Jackson just smirked and thumbed at the slipperiness of Derek’s lips, dipping a few fingers into the man’s mouth, and then using his own hands to pull the corners of Derek’s mouth into a wide grin. 

“ _ Yeah _ —yeah, you’re happy I was here. And thankful.” Jackson cooed. 

Jackson clapped his hands together and beamed at Derek’s slack face. He smiled sinisterly and then cupped the side of Derek’s face with his face, forcing Derek to look right at him. And well, Derek gave a feeble attempt to do so, but there was no real success. Derek was far too lost under the weight of Jackson’s pheromone control. And he was going to stay that way for as long as Jackson commanded. 

“Oh, doc—” Jackson clicked his tongue with a fake air of disappointment. He walked over to the rickety chair that Derek had been sitting in during the psych evaluation and then took a seat, crossing his leg like Derek had done. Derek sluggishly tracked his movement. “—I’ve been such an asshole. I’ve been pretending this whole time that I’ve been doing this for you, when really—I've been doing this for myself.”

Derek swayed unsteady where he was standing at the side of the cot, across the small cell from where Jackson was now sitting dramatically in the chair. The front of his buttoned shirt was ripped open and buttonless. The bare muscle of his torso—the ridges of his abs, the beef of his tits—looked even more muscular and hairier under the harsh shadows cast down by the dim fluorescent light that softly swung overhead. 

“—I’m selfish, Dr. Hale. I know, please don’t mark it down in your notes.” Jackson said sarcastically. “I want to make it up to you. It’s the least I can do—y’know, since I’ve been so selfish. I want you to do things that make  _ you _ feel good. Don’t you think that's fair?”

Jackson watched as Derek seemed to try to give a small nod in agreement, but the man’s body was far too loose to make a harder effort. He would only find his strength in the moments that Jackson, himself, truly saw fit. And despite relishing in his own arrogance and selfishness, Jackson prized himself on being somebody that was capable of giving back to others—others that found themselves in hopeless situations. 

“Hop up on the bed and lay back against the headboard—face me, I want to see everything.” Jackson said, watching as Derek slowly got himself up onto the creaky cot and situated himself in the correct positioning that Jackson had instructed. “Now spread your legs open, lift them up just a bit, and fingerfuck that fat ass of yours. No need to even bother undressing—you’re a werewolf. Use one of your claws, split right down the seam of your pants and your boxers, just enough to get at your tight hole.”

Derek groaned breathily. At Jackson’s simple direction, Derek spread his legs—raising them just slightly in the air. And then with one of his hands, he reached down in-between his legs, letting his index finger’s nail elongate into a deadly sharp werewolf claw. With careful precision, Derek prodded at the seam of his trousers that ran directly under his ass and balls and tore into the fabric, ripping a long upward gash through the fabric of his trousers and black boxer briefs, sighing out in relief as the drafty cell air blew across his bare hole. 

Jackson scoffed out with delight the minute Derek tore a slit in his trousers and boxers. The dim light seemed to beam down perfectly to where Derek’ dusty-pink hole fluttered on display. Jackson couldn’t wait to get his own cock shoved in there, but for the moment, he wanted nothing more than to watch Derek finger himself open until he was sobbing and writhing around, begging for more than just a couple fingers. 

Derek slowly brought his hand up to his mouth and spat, bringing his spit-shined fingers back down to where he had easy access to his hole. Jackson hummed, surprised. He hadn’t even told Derek to do that. Clearly, the man knew what he was doing. And Jackson’s mind almost instantly became cluttered with all kinds of questions and fantasies about what the clean-cut Dr. Derek Stephen Hale got up to in the privacy of his own home. 

Without hesitation, Derek pressed two of his slicked fingers into his own tightness. He groaned out and bit down onto his bottom lip, refusing to break the now fiercely established eye-contact he had with where Jackson was sitting across the room. Derek started slow, but not hesitant. He eased himself into taking more and more of the bluntness of his own thick fingers. He melted into how good it felt to feel his own heat slowly take him in and engulf his digits without issue. 

It didn’t take long before Derek was fucking his fingers into himself with more dangerous rhythm. With a flip of a switch, Derek was fingerfucking himself like he was the star of the world’s raunchiest pornos. His hips were thrusting up into the air as he drove his fingers into his heat. The bicep of the arm that he was using to pleasure himself was flexed so hard that Jackson practically expected it to tear right out of the man’s shirt sleeves. All the while, Derek’s bare, uncovered chest became increasingly shiny with sweat that glistened and matted down the hair of his chest and happy trail. 

“Damn—you’re a fucking beast, doc.” Jackson praised, pushing down his loose bright orange asylum inmate pants. His sleek, eight-incher cock sprung up into his own capable grasp. “Keep fucking yourself open like that, Hale.”

Derek’s body seemed as though it was reaching its limit, but Jackson knew that even if the man did hit his imaginary ceiling, his pheromones would be able to push Derek past them. He watched intently, stroking his massive dick in his hand, watching as Derek’s body vibrated with pleasure. The man’s thick fingers refused to leave his own hole. Derek kept plunging them in, harder and deeper, not ever completely pulling them free of the addictive heat. And Jackson could wholeheartedly tell when Derek scraped against his own prostate, because the hazy spiral inside of the man’s eyes would flicker and disappear for a brief second. 

Jackson eventually jumped up out of his chair, knocking it down to the ground. He couldn’t stand it anymore. He couldn’t bear to watch Derek have all of the fun with his own body. Jackson wanted his turn. So he barreled over to where Derek was laid out on the cot—covered in sweat, shaking with pleasure, unable to stop himself from repeatedly fingerfucking himself and destroying his own prostate. But lucky for him, Jackson was gracious enough to take on the task. 

Jackson slotted himself in-between Derek’s spread legs, feeling the shifty cot creak and lower under their combined weight. He clasped his fingers around Derek’s wrist and pulled the man’s fingers out of his own hole. It came as no surprise to Jackson when Derek whimpered out a defiant, but feeble protest, staring down to where his shiny fingers laid exhausted at his side. 

“God—you’re too damn smart to fucking cry about it.” Jackson sneered, craning downward to kiss Derek’s whimpers and quivering bottom lip away. As he kissed Derek, he reached down and unfastened Derek’s belt, opening the man’s trousers, and reaching in to pull Derek’s fattened-up cock out into the open. “ _ You’re smart _ —put two-and-two together, Hale. If I’m gonna stop you from fingering your hole, obviously I’m gonna stuff you full with something better.”

Derek’s glassy eyes looked down to where Jackson was slotted in-between his legs. And immediately, they locked on to where Jackson’s hard cock was bobbing around, suspended in the air. Derek’s mouth started to water and his fucked open hole fluttered with anticipation. Jackson’s cock was hot. It was long and thick, with a pair of nice balls hanging full and ready to breed. And there was just a touch of nicely trimmed blond hair there at the base of its thickness. 

“Beg me.” Jackson whispered raspily into Derek’s ear, pulling back to see a look of confusion register across Derek’s dopey face. “Beg me to fuck your tight little hole, doc. Beg me.”

Derek smacked at his lips, as though his tongue had gone dry. He was having a difficult time trying to form the words. They were there— tossing around inside of his cloudy mind of pheromone fog. And yet, Derek found it hard to string all of the correct words together. He couldn’t do it. He couldn’t beg for it. He couldn’t give Jackson what he wanted. He couldn’t— 

Jackson thumbed open Derek’s troubled lips and blew in another puff of pheromones, watching as Derek’s hazy eyes fluttered shut with an audible inhale. “Please— _ sir _ , fu—fuck me. Fuck my tight hole open. Fuck my— _ my _ fat ass with your huge cock.”

Derek had found his words. And with only a tad bit of help. Jackson pat himself on the back and watched as Derek’s glossy eyes looked back up at him—a spark of hopefulness gleamed there in the dim lighting. So Jackson grasped his cock at the base and prodded through the torn seams of Derek’s pants and boxers, sucking in a pleased breath of air the moment his leaking cockhead touched up against Derek’s tightness. 

Jackson stared down and watched as his cock sank deep into Derek’s blazing heat, feeling the man’s tight walls engulf his hardness like sin. Suddenly, it felt as though he had been hit with a dose of his own mind-altering pheromones. Derek’s body was lust in its physical form. And before Jackson could even properly take a moment to calm his breath and clear his mind and adjust—his hips were snapping hard into Derek’s heat at a hungry, lightning fast pace. 

_ SLAP SLAP SLAP SLAP SLAP. _

Jackson punished Derek’s hole with rabbit-quick thrusts. His thighs smacked obscenely against the innermost part of Derek’s clothed thighs. Jackson drove as hard as he could into Derek’s body, chasing the man’s tight heat. He had fucked a lot of men, but none had felt as tight and as hot as Derek. Jackson knew right then and there that there wouldn’t be a way to let Derek go—he couldn’t. For as long as Jackson was to be admitted in Eichen, he would need Derek’s body available to him. 

It had to be that way. 

“Come on, Doctor—” Jackson breathed cockily. “—show me - how much - you fucking - want this.”

Derek cried out shakily. He wrapped both of his legs around the bottom half of Jackson’s torso and wrapped both of his arms around the back of Jackson’s neck, pulling the boy downward so that their faces were level with one another’s. The tightened hold only seemed to draw Jackson’s thrusts deeper, setting fire to what was left of Derek’s mind. His body was shaking all over and vibrating inside, around Jackson, and throughout everywhere else. 

Jackson’s rhythm never faltered. He continued onward, driving as hard as he could into Derek’s body. And Derek took everything so well, so hungrily. And as Jackson fucked his cock into Derek’s hole, his hands desperately pawed at the man’s naked torso—grabbing onto the man’s hairy, beefy tits—squeezing them, pinching at Derek’s nipples, and twisting at them just so that he could watch Derek choke up a sob. 

After a solid ten minutes, Jackson pulled out of Derek’s hole. Derek whined and thrust his hips upward to rub against where Jackson was hard and throbbing. But Jackson ignored the desperation, grabbing onto Derek’s sides and flipping the man over. The cot shook underneath the sudden movement as Derek was flipped onto his stomach. And then just as quickly, and without even saying a word, Jackson grabbed onto Derek’s hips and pulled them up into the air, closer to his cock. Face shoved down into the worn blankets on the cot, ass pulled up into the air—Derek was ready to get fucked even harder. 

Jackson grabbed his hands onto either side of the thin tear that Derek had sliced along his trousers seam and then pulled hard— ripping open a much larger hole in the fabric—making it so that the entire backside of Derek’s trousers and boxers were ripped to shreds. It was much better this way. Way hotter. It allowed for the man’s massive, fat and hairy ass to glow underneath the dim cell’s lighting. 

With both of his hands, Jackson spread the fat globes of Derek’s ass apart. His fair-skinned hands gripped tightly into the tanned skin of Derek’s body was such a hot contrast to bear witness to. And Jackson, yet again, pat himself on the back for being such a genius. He gave Derek’s ass a sharp slap and then gripped into the man’s backside—shaking it in his hands, watching Derek’s ass wobble and bounce. 

Jackson spat down onto Derek’s hole, which had grown considerably tighter after having just been fucked open.  _ Ah _ , the gloriousness of werewolf speed-healing. He watched as his saliva trickled down the crevice of Derek’s spread ass cheeks, watching it trail nicely over the man’s tight puckered heat. And then without even bothering to give Derek even the slightest bit of a warning, Jackson lined himself up and drove back into Derek’s hole. 

This time, Jackson added just a hint of added brutality. He grabbed onto both of Derek’s wrists and then pulled them back so that Derek’s arms were effectively held behind his own back. At the same time, Jackson knelt on one knee behind where he was fucking into Derek’s hole, stetching his other leg just enough so that he could press his bare foot onto the back of Derek’s head—keeping the man pinned down to the cot. 

Derek panted out in  _ “ah - ah - ah - ah” _ breaths with each piercing thrust from behind. His body was violently pitched forward to the rhythm of Jackson’s thighs striking against his ass. His head banged into the weak, rusted old iron headboard, which in turn, scraped and battered against the stone wall. And with Jackson’s foot pressed down hard against the back of his head, the majority of Derek’s cries were muffled into the cot’s only available pillow. 

“What a fucking sloppy slut.” Jackson groaned, striking forward as hard as he could. He couldn’t take his eyes off the way that Derek’s fat ass bounced and jiggled and rippled with each thrust’s delivery. “Did you think— _ ah _ —that you’d spend all those years—studying to become a psychiatrist—only to land here—face down in one of your patient’s cots—getting your tight pretty pussy fucking railed—without being able to do anything other than beg for more?”

Jackson used Derek’s arms like reigns, keeping his own hands wrapped tightly around each of the man’s wrist, pulling at them so that he could pull Derek’s ass back harder to meet his thrusts. Derek’s body was nothing more than a toy and it bent so nicely to Jackson’s whims. Ever better, Derek was thoroughly enjoying it—droning out a litany of breathy moans and sobs. 

Ten more minutes passed and Jackson felt himself draw nearer and nearer to his orgasm. He hated himself for it. The last thing that he wanted to do was stop, but he knew that Derek needed to get on his way before suspicion was raised. So, Jackson picked up his pace—thundering down his merciless thrusts upon Derek’s fat backside. His balls swung and slapped lewdly against Derek’s thighs. If he was going to cum, he was going to cum like this—pulling at Derek’s arms and keeping the man’s head smashed into a pillow with the force and weight of his own foot. 

Jackson didn’t even warn Derek before he blew his load. He didn’t scream, or swear, or moan. He just smirked and thrust in one last time, feeling his thick cock throb and spew a monstrous amount of hot cum into the depths of Derek’s fucked out body. He only made a sound when Derek moaned out loudly, biting down onto the pillow, as he felt Jackson’s seed spill hotly into him. He knew he had been bred. And the visual of acknowledgement made Jackson’s skin tingle. 

Just a few moments later, Jackson pulled his spent cock from Derek’s ass, watching as a steady stream of his own cum poured out from the man’s tightness. Quickly, Jackson removed his foot from holding down Derek’s head and flipped the doctor back onto his back. He grabbed hold of Derek’s calf muscles and then pushed the man’s legs back—further and further until Derek’s own legs were up and over his head. Better yet, Derek’s pelvis was positioned perfectly above the man’s face, his own hard cock swinging down to bat against his own lips. 

“You wanna cum, doc?” Jackson laughed, looking down to where Derek was in the perfect position to give  _ himself _ a blowjob. Who knew werewolves were so flexible? “Suck your own fat cock. Give it to yourself nice and sloppy. And make a mess of your own face for me.”

Derek didn’t need to hear another command. With relish, Derek craned his head upward and stuck out his tongue, wrapping his own lips around the sensitive head of his cock. The taste of his own precum spattered across his tastebuds and it sent sparks through his dazed head. He couldn’t fathom the fact that his own legs were tossed and getting held up and over his own head. He couldn’t believe that his own cock was in the wetness of his own mouth. But he didn’t care to think about it. Instead, Derek chased his own flavor and bobbed his mouth around the length of his dick.

Simultaneously, Jackson pressed and held Derek’s lower back and pelvis down, pushing the poor man’s delicious flexibility to the brink as he watched Derek blow himself with a shining bout of enthusiasm. And then Jackson spread open Derek’s fat cheeks for the second time, looking down at the beautiful glisten of cum that leaked out of his abused hole. At once, Jackson craned downward and speared his tongue into Derek’s tightness. 

Jackson rimmed Derek with starved ferociousness, tasting his own spend as his tongue lashed around Derek’s hole. It felt like power to Jackson. Even though he already had all of the control in the situation, there was something twisted and erotic about making Derek blow himself like a slut—all while passionately eating the man out. It made Jackson just the tiniest bit jealous that he hadn’t made Derek blow him first before everything else. But it was fine—Jackson knew he’d get a shot in the not too distant future. 

Meanwhile, Derek swallowed his cock hard and fast, sloppily slurping and growling around his own leaking cockhead. Rivulets and saliva and pre-cum spilled from the corners of his lips, making a mess of his stubbled face. Derek’s body moved instinctively as it chased what  _ he _ knew felt good to receive. His jaw started to ache, but his mouth continued to surge forward and chase his own tastes. His moans leaked out into the tightness of the stone-walled cell, but all of them were muffled by the thickness of his own cock stuffed down his throat. 

Not more than a few moments later, Derek’s entire body gave a sudden jolt and his hole tightened around where he could feel Jackson’s tongue whipping around inside. With a great muffled shout, Derek felt his cock explode into his mouth, bursting thick, creamy cum across his tongue and down the back of his throat. It was so fast and hot that Derek choked out slightly, sputtering cum out around where his lips were wrapped not-so-tightly around his girth. 

He let his throbbing cock fall out of his mouth, feeling as the continued spurts of his orgasm harshly rained down to splatter onto his face. The feeling of his own hot cum streaking across his sweaty skin, across his worn lips, his sharp nose, and onto the glass of his black-rimmed spectacles, only made Derek bust even harder. His orgasm continued and continued to wash over him. Derek laid there with his head against Jackson’s pillow, mouth opened wide, tongue spread out, as thick globs of cum soaked him sinfully. 

Eventually, Jackson unfolded Derek’s legs—taking a full pictured view of how messy Derek had gotten by his own hand, or by his own mouth, rather. Derek was just panting out in tough, labored breaths. He was covered in his own cum and looked as though he was about to be completely dead to the world in a handful of seconds. Jackson surged down and playfully dragged the pad of his own tongue across Derek’s cum-speckled glasses, cleaning off the glass so that he could see Derek’s glossy, unfocused eyes. 

“Just one more thing, Dr. Hale.” Jackson said smugly. He held open Derek’s sloppy mouth and blew in another dose of pheromones, watching Derek gleefully breath everything in like it was the very oxygen he needed to live. 

“To your colleagues and superiors, you’ll be a responsible, good little doctor—following all of the rules and doing your proper duties—but it’ll be a lie now, because you can’t get enough of this—what we just did. You’ll need more. And more. And you won’t be able to stop yourself from wanting it so bad.” Jackson thumbed at Derek’s lips. “And you’ll find it here— with me, and with  _ all _ of your other male patients that’ll be waiting to get their hands on your thick cock and your fat ass.”

“ _ Y—yes, sir _ .” Derek mumbled out sleepily. It was the first time he had been able to speak out so clearly and concise without having been ordered to do so. 

“ _ So fucking good _ .” Jackson cooed, tightening up Derek’s messy tie. “Now, get back to your office and change. We don’t want the warden seeing you like this. Be casual. Be  _ normal _ . Walk past that receptionist near the elevators giving him no reason to even notice you. And don’t worry about you fat ass hanging out—your doctor’s coat is long enough to cover it.”

Derek nodded sluggishly and climbed off the cot. A spark of life jolted into him. He ran his hands through his messy hair and straightened it the best that he could, lapping absentmindedly at where streaks of his own cum were dripping down his face. He walked over to where he had dropped his notebook and papers and quickly rearranged them back into a proper stack, picking them up into his hand. He turned around to look at Jackson. 

“You did well with your psych evaluation, Mr. Whittemore.” Derek said professionally, not even aware of the fact that he was soaked in sweat and cum and had the back portion of his pants and boxers ripped open—his tight hole dripping with Jackson’s seed. “I look forward to our time together here.”

Jackson smirked and watched as Derek pushed open the cell door and set off back to fetch another change of clothes in his office. 

**Author's Note:**

> Hey! Thanks for reading! I always appreciate comments, critiques, and suggestions for future works! Also kudos! Thanks! 
> 
> NOTE: I plan on making this a series with further installations explore Derek/other patients in the asylum. What do you think? Are you interested in that type of thing? And do you have any suggestions for me?

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Not Oblivious at all](https://archiveofourown.org/works/26360872) by [SamaelSphinx](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SamaelSphinx/pseuds/SamaelSphinx)




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